Tribute
by orchidluv
Summary: Bella watches Tribute videos and reflects on her time in the Marines about September 11th. Rated T for language. Never Forget!


**In honor of our Fallen from 9/11/01**

 **Never Forgotten**

 **Semper Fidelis**

Today marks the 16th year of the day our country was attacked by terrorists. Sitting on the old faded couch at Charlie's, I twirl my wedding ring around my finger. It was hard to believe that I would be turning 30 in just a couple of days. A tear slips down my face while I watch the many Tribute videos on the local news stations and YouTube compilations. I wiped my nose on the sleeve of my dark blue flannel.

I was 13 - two days from 14 - when the airplanes were hijacked by terrorists and ruined millions of people's lives. My father, being a dedicated police officer, volunteered to help with the aftermath, flying out to New York as soon as the air travel was cleared.

I remember the intense emotions and the screaming from the live feeds that fateful day. It had made my mind up for me and as years passed, only solidified my determination. So when I moved from Phoenix, Arizona to Forks, Washington with my dad, I apprenticed for him immediately after school hours and on weekends. I quickly got over my school girl crush of Edward Cullen and had no time for the banal flirtings of one Jacob Black. Between my apprenticeship and extreme workout routines, my junior and senior years of high school flew by and I enrolled immediately into the United States Marine Corps.

Boot Camp was actually a very fun experience for me. I had always been a shy female but being forced to scream my words at the Drill Instructors and stand up for myself, I quickly grew out of that. I soared through BC, my favorite time there being the rifle range. I only scored as Marksman on the range but the smell of the hot sulfur and loud cracking sounds of the many rifles being shot always got me going. Even today, retired from Active Duty after eight years, the scent of a lit match had my brain spiraling nostalgically down memory lane.

" _This is my rifle,_

 _There are many like it,_

 _But this one is mine..._ "

The front door to the old white two story house creaked open and my husband walked in, carrying our 2 year old son. I had met Sam upon my discharge from the Marines when he followed my father to Seattle to pick me up from the airport. Charlie's cruiser had been at the Taj getting work done so Sam Uley had volunteered to drive him too and from. He had confided in me a week later that he just felt pulled in that direction and had spoken without thought. It had all made sense for the Alpha when our eyes locked at baggage claim. Marc's hair was in sweaty disarray as he laid his sleepy head on his father's shoulder. His bleary eyed stare was vacant as he tried to fully waken. I wiped the tears from my eyes and muted the television as Sam sat next to me, letting Marc scoot into my lap before kissing my temple.

"How are you holding up?" Sam asked. His deep baritone voice rumbled quietly in his chest so as not to disturb where Charlie lay across the living room.

I nodded as I shrugged one shoulder, adjusting little Marc so his bum wasn't digging into my thigh. "I'm doing fine, just keeping an eye on the old man." I said.

"I'm not that old, kiddo." A raspy voice stated gruffly. "I got a few years left in me, you know."

I huffed a short laugh at my dying father. After all of the chemotherapy, radiation, remission, and then comeback, the cancer had completely kicked his ass. His head was razored clean to hide the patches he'd lost, his body was thin and frail, covered in two inch round tumors. He needed help with everything he did but there was no where to touch him that didn't cause immense pain. Charlie had been contacted by some skeezy lawyer when he had been diagnosed a year ago. They told him that he could sue the state of New York for his illness - stating inhalation of gasses from Ground Zero were the cause of his cancer. When Charlie told the lawyer to go fuck himself and hung up on the sleezy prick, Billy Black had tossed him a Scotch and Vitamin R, congratulating him on keeping his backbone.

I ran my hand down Marc's back soothingly when he whimpered at hearing his Grampa speak. Grampa Charlie hung the moon specifically for my son and this was painful for him to watch. He wouldn't be here for my dad's final days, but I wanted him to spend as much time as he could with him.

The television screen caught my eye and Sam grasped my hand as another clip of people jumping from the World Trade Center played again. My eyes filled with tears as my body tensed with hatred. It didn't matter how many years had passed. Watching our country get attacked, the innocent people running for their lives, fighting for their lives - and failing - always set my blood on fire. Sam released my hand only to press me into his side and drape my legs over his, holding me to him with a bulky toffee colored arm. Marc's chocolate brown hair tickled my nose as he rubbed his cheek against my chest in attempt to comfort me. He always knew when I was feeling low, even if I made no sound and he couldn't see my face.

As the American Flag waved on screen in front of the camera, the Tribute in Light glowing brightly in the distance, I handed Marc to his father and stood at attention, unmuting the tv. Honor, pride, commitment all filled my soul as our countries anthem played loud and long. I am proud to be an American and I am proud to be Staff Sergeant Isabella Uley of the United States Marine Corps.

" _From dusk on Sept. 11 until dawn on Sept.12, everybody within view of the Manhattan skyline will be reminded of what was lost16 yearsago. The two strong beams of light resembling the Twin Towers' descent toward the heavens will again serve as a beacon of contemplation and reflection._ " - The newscaster repeated the same quote they've been using for years yet the words did not remove from the soul-rending feelings it inspired.

A shaky inhale and quiet, "Semper Fi" was whispered from the hospital bed at the far side of the livingroom. Marc whispered the words in return. Sam stood up from the couch, letting his shoulder touch mine. "Oorah, Marine." He murmured into my ear.

I kept my brown eyes locked on the television, watching our Nation's Flag wave in the wind with tears tracking down my face. I prayed aloud quietly for all of our Fallen and their families before turning to face Sam and locking eyes with him.

"Oorah." I whispered.


End file.
